Off
by Harmonic Friction
Summary: A ficlet tribute to strange pairings in the Harry Potter realm. Some mature pairings. [LuciusLuna, JustinErnie, PercivalPansy...]
1. Country Boy

AN: Will contain some slash, mature content. (Though not necessarily at the same time.)

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O_ff_.

A tribute to strange pairings in the Harry Potter realm.

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One: Country Boy

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The boy wiped his mouth on his navy sleeve and settled back against the wall. In response to his fellow student's stare, he replied in Yorkshire speak, "'s' cold ou-side."

"Yes, so? You _could _be a bit more genteel."

"Prig."

"Country boy."

They smiled fondly at each other.

"I've never heard you insult anyone like that, Longbottom," declared the blond boy passively, flipping his bangs.

"I've never been called a country boy," Neville grinned, showing his slightly uneven teeth.

"There is a first time for everything, then. I quite like this angry side of you."

Neville shrugged. "Thanks. Nobody else does."

"They can't stomach it. _I _can stomach it."

"I know you can."

Draco Malfoy tugged on his green scarf. "Tut, imagine Snape's surprise if he knew we don't study _at _all."

"I'm abou' to fail on account of you."

"More than likely," Draco replied curtly.

"I hate you and I want her."

"I know," Draco shrugged. "But this is far more exciting than Potions study. And _she _doesn't call you cruel names."

"I don't _really _hate you," Neville said with some guilt, shifting his weight.

"It's all right if you do, I'm quite used to it."

"Give us a kiss."

"Take that toad out of your pocket and I'll give you more than that."


	2. Hallway Running

Two: Hallway Running

"Please stop that," Percy Weasley remarked crisply, as crisp as his white shirt. Any money that Percy saved up was spent carefully downtown Hogsmede buying either new books or nice shirts. He adored anything clean. Anything new.

He was never bored, but today his concentration was dwindling.

Gray clean socks, little perfect skirt—these were all things breaking his concentration. It was bad because she was a third year. It was bad because she was a rule-breaker.

It was bad because she was a _Slytherin._

But green and silver was so much more even than gold and crimson. Gold and crimson together was _garish_, almost nasty. Percy _hated _the Gryffindor colours, although they were not half as bad as Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw was _okay_. But Slytherin was _beautiful._

She popped her gum. "_What_?"

"Your-"

She cocked her head, smirking. Her black flapper-do swung. "Come out with it, Weasley."

"It's _Prefect_ to you," was all he could get out.

"You're a sod," she told him.

He couldn't take his eyes off her pretty patent leather Mary Janes.

Percy had a secret. He desired mean girls. Bitches. Slags.

All the little snobs had _such _style and grace, and lovely makeup. Girls like Hermione were nice, but they didn't get him off quite like Slytherin's host of shrews with their heels and purses and bubblegum lip gloss.

"You going to write me up for _that_, Peter?" she asked.

His face fell. "My name is **Percy**!"

"You're going _red._"

"I'll have to talk to Professor Snape, _Parkinson!_ I'll tell him!" the Prefect shouted furiously. She still didn't know his _name? _He wanted her to be punished for it, not by Severus, but by _him._

Humiliated out of his mind, Prefect Percy went running down the hallway in the opposite direction.

Pansy stared.


	3. My oh knee

AN: A pairing I've been _itching _to write.

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Three: My-oh-knee

"No one else has ever laughed during one of my lectures, dear girl."

"Professor, I apologize."

"Oh, _fiddlesticks. _Don't apologize, my goodness, I am stunned and honored."

"I quite like how you combine fact with sense of humor. None of my peers _get _it."

"It is very becoming for a lady your age to be so in tune with wit."

"I appreciate that, Professor."

"Well, of course. And your first name again, Miss Granger?"

"Hermione."

"Harriet?"

"Herm-i-one."

Hermione felt as though she were speaking to Viktor Krum.

"Herm-eyre-nee," Professor Binns repeated.

"Her-my-oh-knee."

"_Ah. _Hermione! Why didn't you say so!?"

She giggled. "Have a good evening, Professor Binns," she replied with a little wave.

The ghost nodded.

Shutting the door behind her, Hermione wondered why she found the man so intriguing. She was unlike her peers. And he was unlike them as well, but also different then the other professors.

She liked his 19th century clothes and his straight forward homework.

Hermione loved men who assigned her papers. She did them instantly, with ease. Sometimes, Hermione _was _willing to be biddable, even if Ron and Harry didn't think so.


	4. Someone

Four: Someone

"Don't drink it!" Goyle grunted, smacking Crabbe against the shoulder.

"_Oi."_ Crabbe blinked, not quite sure what had happened. "Eh? "

"Said _don't_, 's for class." Goyle made a gesture to the front of the room, where Madame Trelawney was jumping up and down insanely at something she'd discovered in Hannah Abbott's near future.

"Oh. Right." Crabbe sat down the teacup very slowly with an apologetic look in his glassy eyes. "Right. This tea's not for drinking."

"Honestly, when Malfoy's sick…" Goyle shook his head. "Anyway, have a look in it."

"What for?"

"Oh, bother." Goyle snatched the teacup and squinted dully. "Looks to be a unicorn."

"A _what_?"

"Unicorn, horse with one thinger on 'is 'ead, you stupid?"

"Naw, just, that's wanker's stuff, ain't it!"

"Not necessarily. Women like 'em, too."

Crabbe made a sound between a growl and a moan, but Goyle seemed none too phased. "Look it up in the book."

Nodding, Crabbe turned the pages, which was hard because his fingers were so fat. "Here," he said."

"That's a bullfrog."

"Here?"

"That's a mother."

"**Here, then!**"

"That's a plain horse, it is!"

Angry, Crabbe threw the book at Goyle's face, missing. It bumped into Justin Finch-Fletchley's head and he spent the entire period trying to convince everyone that he'd been specifically targeted because he was a Muggle-born.

Meanwhile, Goyle and Crabbe were grunting at each other like two drippy bloodhounds who had forgotten about foxes.

"_You have a primrose!" _ squawked a voice from behind them.

There stood Madame Trelawney, grinning from ear-to-ear.

"A _what? _"

"A primrose, my darling! A primrose!"

"So I'm _not _a wanker!?"

Trelawney frowned. "I choose to ignore your terms, sir, but I must say that, er—homoerotic or not, you are bound to find love in the next eight days!"

"Love!" Crabbe snorted. "Love!"

Goyle was dumbfounded. "_You_?"

The classroom went silent, but to this day, some say that they could hear Draco Malfoy's stifled laughter.

"Someone finds you quite desirable!" Trelawney affirmed, happy to have caused such a stir.

Blaise snorted into his teacup.

And though it was never revealed to Vincent Crabbe who had secret feelings for him, the world changed that day.

It was the day when the thought of Crabbe/Someone was born.


	5. Jagged

Five: Jagged

Lucius Malfoy, school board extraordinaire, would have been head of PTA if he would have been so unlucky to have been born a Muggle, but he had it in him. That vicious, searing brutality that only a parent can have, except his concerns were selfish and had nothing to do with his son.

He did not like to appear nasty or brash or unpretty, and so he pressed against the girl very delicately as not to mess up his well-kempt hair. It had absolutely _nothing _to do with her little, virgin body. Lucius saw her as a sacrifice. _He'd _been a sacrifice once, and he was in the process of making Draco one and now she could be one, too.

"You look almost like him," he said crisply, biting, _furious_. "You could be my daughter."

Luna Lovegood shook her head.

"No?" Lucius clucked. Maybe he pressed just a little _harder. _

Lucius Malfoy was everything a grownup should be. He was sarcastic, demeaning, and he did not care to meddle in the affairs of children, though he often did. He often _was _the affair.

"Perfect," she gasped lightly, over-acting.

"Come again," he shot bitterly, and folded her open.

"You're all so perfect," she breathed. "Like dolls, like _soft cornsilk." _

"You could be my daughter," Lucius insisted. He hated arguing.

"I'm not like you," she told him with a shrug, with a shrug that said _Hagrid's hut with no Hagrid in it and the superintendent in me isn't strange at all. _

"Ravenclaw," he spat," good house, but hardly as—"

"Good as Slytherin? I know, I've heard."

"But you could be my daughter."

Lucius never liked to lose an argument. But Luna was much too sincere to give in to all of it.

After all, her hair fell in course clumps, hippie curls.

And her eyes were not as gray.

And she had a sort of _light _that was nonexistent in Malfoys.

Lucius was always looking for that missing piece.

No one was it.


	6. Mouth

Six: Mouth

Unbeknownst to the other houses, Hufflepuffs like to play awful tricks on each other, because with loyalty comes comfort and with comfort, there is really no sexual tension.

Which was the reason why Ernie grabbed Justin around the waist in the dorm room that day and wouldn't let go for nearly ten whole minutes.

Ernie was _very _straight. Justin, not quite so much.

Which was why Justin was complaining and Ernie was laughing sadistically.

"Get _off. _We have Snape in five minutes."

"So what? He wouldn't notice if we were a bit late."

"Are you _kidding?" _

"Sort of, heh, yes."

Justin blushed furiously. Everyone took advantage of the fact that he was the Huffle-poufter. He hated it and loved it.

"Have you ever had a boyfriend?" Ernie asked suddenly.

"Have you ever had a _life_? No, if I did, wouldn't you notice? We've slept in the same room for nearly six years! Don't you think you would have _noticed—" _

"If some sultry Slytherin were to waltz out naked behind you?" Ernie chuckled and tightened his grip.

Justin made an angry snorting sound as though smoke were coming out of his ears. "_Ugh, I don't like Slytherins!" _he said shrilly.

"That's biased of you, you should be ashamed. Who _do _you gay boys like?"

"Same as the straight men, you ass. Only men."

"What?"

"What I'm saying is, do you all only like one girl?"

"No, but there are _certain _ones."

"Who!?"

Ernie grinned. "Well, there are the hot cows—Pansy Parkinson for example. Then, there are the Brainy Beauties—Hermione. The Athletic… er.. can't think of anything clever—Angelina. And of course, the sluts like Ginny Weasley who you only like because you think you might have a chance with them."

"That's crude."

"Well, you tell _me _who the gay boys like!?"

"First, there aren't gay _boys. _There's me."

"Oh come off it."

"No, honestly. And for me, there's only one person."

Ernie chortled. "Right, then. _Who?_"

Justin shifted uncomfortably. "Just **get off**, all right?"

It was then that Ernie turned him around and gave him one little kiss on the cheek.

"The Straight Sexy," Justin decided, blushed, and promptly walked out of the room.


	7. Lockers

**AN: **Thanks for the reviews-- so much! The following is a gift for ronwheezyrox, who gave me a challenge and I gotta pick the pairing.. erm- hope she likes it.

* * *

Seven: Lockers

"Get out of here, you're not supposed to be here," Cedric warned, but Slytherins like Marcus hardly paid attention to foolishness like _rules._

No, _rules _were for Hufflepuffs and maybe Ravenclaws but _never _the cool houses. _Never _Gryffindors. _Never _Slytherins. _Never _Marcus.

Because he was the captain and he was as much of a bully as Percival Weasley was a nosy prude, and Cedric felt uncomfortable every time Marcus was around, because their relationship was so twisted, so disgusting, that Cedric knew his father would murder him on the spot if he knew.

If Cedric had _one _wish, it would be that he would be struck dead before his Dad had a chance to find out about it.

If Marcus had _one _wish, it would be to hold Cedric hostage against his will and _beat him senseless, _beat all of that humility right out of him, beat all of that loyalty out of his skull. _Then, _they'd be all right.

Marcus grinned, not scared at all, never scared, because that's how he is and how he will always be. "Hullo, wanker," he greeted through his gruesome smile.

"I told you I'm _not—"_

"Yeah? And I hear it every day from Malfoy and the other little poufs! You're all scared."

"And _you're not?"_

"Fuck, of course not. I'd think _you _of all people would know."

Cedric flinched when Marcus came closer. It was something he needed to stop doing, because flinching invigorated Marcus. Marcus liked victims. Marcus liked sobbing, sad little boys and Cedric didn't want to be one but, he was, _he was._

"I know," muttered Cedric. "But look, I have herbology—"

"Oh hell. You pick _plants _over me?"

"Marcus. Shut up. You're being insensitive. My grades are slipping."

"And it's my fault." It was a statement, because Marcus knew.

"Look, what happened in the bath was—irrelevant, I'd never done that before. I'm not gay, Marcus. I'm not."

Flint spat out a laugh. "Oh, yes, because _straight _boys like to be touched like that, I see where you're going."

"Stop it!" Cedric tensed up, and made to move past the boy, when Flint grabbed him roughly around the shoulders and shook him.

"You stop it! Quit the 'I'm not gay' act and just be your damned self. I don't know what's wrong with you, you stupid pretty boy. I hate guys like you—I hate you! **Make me hate you!" **This came harshly, with another shake, another violent, vile shake.

"Why?" asked Cedric tiredly.

Marcus stared him straight in the eyes. "'cause I _don't want to_ _love you anymore."_

"Get stuffed, Flint. You couldn't love a puppy."

"Get stuffed yourself, you asshole. You can't love a Slytherin, and you're _not gay_, so you most definitely can't love a Slytherin _boy. _When you grow up, find me, and I'll shag you again. But until then, go to your ball with that little whore and keep denying everything."

"Maybe if you'd stop pestering Malfoy and other _third years, _I'd be with you, but you're sick! You're perverse. I can't stand you."

"I wish I was you," Flint grinned, and shoved the Hufflepuff forward. "Then I'd just be stupid and accept _everything. _Later, Diggory. See you at the match."


	8. Photograph

**AN: **This one is for Chess. I don't really know why but-- it is. Inspired partly by one of my favourite secrets in _Post Secret._

* * *

Eight: Photograph

* * *

Neville Longbottom keeps a newspaper clipping underneath his mattress. _Well-Respected Aurors Tortured to Insanity_ reads the headline, but wouldn't that be simple, wouldn't that be easy, to say "I keep this clipping because this was the last night Mum and Dad remembered me?" 

Yes, it would.

But it isn't, because on the other _half _of the page is a bad photograph, a messy, black and white snapshot of the tortur_ess, _the one who made his parents slack-jawed and insane, Bellatrix Black, who, in this _very _old snapshot, looks bored as she brushes back pieces of hair from her forehead. The authorities are pulling her away, away from the scene, and she's barely caring, she looks calm until she's almost through walking by, and then she stares, **madly**, and smiles.

A big, wide grin.

The photo's in black and white, but Neville likes to imagine Bellatrix Black-Lestrange with _red, red _lipstick and a _red _coat.

_Bellatrix is gorgeous_, Neville thinks.

He imagines her applying her makeup before a crystal ball in the morning, he imagines her in his year. He can see her straddling a broomstick, and when, in first year, he said _"up up up!" _, he really wasn't lying. And last year was the best year, because they met face to face. And she'd grown older, yes, but she was still just as gorgeous and Hermione had questioned him later about the look on his _face _that night but he'd just pulled his stupid _Neville card _and said," I don't… know what you--- _mean."_

Later that evening, he had pulled out the photograph and stroked her face lovingly, asking her why she cared so much for Rudolphus because Rudolphus always seemed to be _in trouble. _

Neville knows everything about Bellatrix Black-Lestrange.

Neville is attached to a newspaper clipping.

Neville is infatuated with a murderer.

Neville is in lust with a _bad lady _he saw in a _photograph._


	9. Girls in a Bed Together

**AN: **No femmeslash? What the hell was I thinking?

Nine: Girls in a Bed (Together)

* * *

Not many people know that Fleur Delacour and Cho Chang met and quickly became well-acquainted. 

Nor do they know that Fleur and Cho got along smartly, and they shared a bed.

Not because they were tired.

If they would have spoken of it aloud, all of Hogwarts would have tried to get in on it. The French boys, and the Bulgarians and the English, all getting along for the sake of girls in a bed (together).

And not just _any _girls, but the best of the best. _The crème de la crème._

"_Excuse?" _Fleur had inquired, her pretty intonation traveling upward like a silvery balloon. She shook her tresses away from her face. She ignored Percy Weasley, who was staring at her in a daze, not noticing three Slytherin third years chasing each other through the halls, squealing.

"You need 'elp with somethin'?" Cho answered, Northern speak, dark-haired, curved eyes, making boys blush at her tiny frame and sweet smile.

"Ah, _but you are helpful_," smiled Fleur. "_Qui? _Not one ozzah person in zis entire corridor has listened to my question!"

Cho shrugged. "That's probably because you're a veela. Aren' you?"

"My grandmuzzer was full," nodded Fleur. "I do have veela in my blood."

"They're distracted. You're lovely," Cho told her earnestly.

Fleur smiled and did not deny it. "Can you tell me vere ze dungeons are? Madame Maxime 'as said I must acquire a certain, how do you say, _mixture?" _She struggled with the English, cocking her head. _"Bottle? _From a Monsieur _Snake?"_

Cho giggled despite herself. "Professor Snape?"

"Qui. What have I said? Zis English is so difficult, I—"

"You described 'im well," Cho told her. "You shouldn' go down there, though, he'll only yell at you—" Cho stopped in thought. "I wonder how he would react to you bein' a vee—" This thought made Cho laugh harder.

"Excuse?" Fleur blinked, lost.

"Never mind," Cho said. "Don't go to the dungeons. Come with me—I'll show you around Hogwarts!"

-

And somehow, they couldn't really tell how, hours later they were in bed together. Cho had wanted to show off her dorm, and no one had been around, and so one thing had led to another and,

Fleur had admitted in her beautiful _"broken" _English that she hated that boys were so attracted to her and that girls hated her and Cho had nodded, knowing exactly what that meant.

So Fleur had lifted her robe off very slowly, being careful not to disrupt her hair and Cho had placed her lips over Fleur's.

_"Amour d'I ceci, Je suis ceci."_

If any word had been spoken, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, Percy, and Flint would have been equals. Equals ogling breasts and legs and the passion that took place in the Ravenclaw dorm room. But Cho and Fleur were not about what the boys thought.

And so they said nothing.

Fleur with Bill; Cho with Harry; these came later. These occurred after failed attempts at perfection.

Because really, how could anyone top the crème de la crème?


	10. Teatime

**AN: **Because, y'know, there's a special place in my heart for him.

* * *

Ten: Teatime

* * *

Dudley Dursley smiled at the thought of Harry being wrong. Harry thought that he was some sort of precious entity, some sort of foreign god, some wonderful deity that Dudley, and Mam, and Dad could not understand and never would. But Dudley was pleased to know for certain that Harry had quite a few details _wrong. _

About _him _and his friends. Particularly concerning Piers Polkiss. And teatime.

"Teatime?" Harry had snorted under his breath that morning, at breakfast. "_Yeah bloody right, teatime. I know what you're really doing."_

Dudley had ceased from wolfing down a bowl of oatmeal, a piece of toast, two strips of bacon and a sausage patty. (He was on another diet, bugger!) **_"What, then?"_**

"_Running about with your gang! You can't fool me, you idiot. If Petunia found out—"_

"If I found out what, you little troll?" snapped Mam briskly, looking as though she was going to sever Harry's neck with the knife she was wielding. Harry looked thoughtful, and Dudley guessed that Harry knew quite a few trolls at his freak show school, maybe even dated one. "More oatmeal, sweetums?" Petunia asked Dudley.

"**NO!**" he yelled, glaring at Harry in a vicious way, until he realized ten minutes later that his cousin was _wrong _about something.

Sure, Dudley liked to "run about with his gang" as Harry, obviously no true thug, had put it. Stealing little kids' bikes was awesome and beating up people was pretty tight as well. But that wasn't why Dudley had made up the "teatime" excuse. _Hell no._

By the time Dudley realized that Harry was wrong, Harry had disappeared. _'Probably sleeping in the flower pots again, heh heh,' _Dudley thought to himself, striding past Dad, who was humming and hammering a peg into the wall for no real reason anyone else could see.

"Back soon," was Dudley's way of asking permission to go out, and Vernon muttered something about the neighbor's lawn gnomes always being _'on the watch.' _

--

Dudley made his way casually through Third Place, a little mass of manufactured homes that were made to look like cottages. Upon reaching Number Seven, he crept around the back after making certain that there were no cars parked outside. Dudley stepped over flowers and stones, until he was standing outside a large window. He rapped three times.

He waited.

_Knock knock knock _came the signal. Piers Polkiss opened the blinds and made a motion that it was all clear.

Dudley went around the end of the house, and met Piers at the back door, where he was let in immediately.

With no words, Dudley followed Piers to his room and dominated him on the floor next to open schoolbooks. In a moment's time it was over and Dudley closed the front of his trousers and sat on Pier's bed.

"Potter thinks we're _actually _out stealing shit," he said.

"He's such a _prat."_

He and Piers erupted into guffaws.

"Teatime was _good, _but the gang excuse is even _better," _Piers snorted.

* * *


End file.
